


The Blood Drive

by ikkiM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Lover Not Quite Boning, One Shot, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the new JaimeBrienne.com board, we created a fic challenge.  I was assigned the phrase 'Blood Donation.'  It was supposed to be 500 words and it exploded, as fics tend to do.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Blood Drive

**Author's Note:**

> For the new JaimeBrienne.com board, we created a fic challenge. I was assigned the phrase 'Blood Donation.' It was supposed to be 500 words and it exploded, as fics tend to do.

Brienne sighed and wondered why she had such rotten luck today. She usually enjoyed the mobile blood drives. Working as a hematologist paid well, had flexible hours and supplemented her almost non-existent income as the part-time curator of the medieval weaponry exhibit of the local art museum. She'd forgotten to do laundry and had no clean bras and only one clean pair of scrubs, her oldest ones. It wasn't a problem to go braless but it still made her uncomfortable.

This blood drive at Casterly Bank had been a nightmare. She’d been assigned to the executive draws in the upper level conference room alone. Ron Connington, who had taken her to her eighth grade dance and dumped her, rode up in the elevator with her. Then she had to explain to the CEO, Tywin Lannister, that he could not pay someone to donate on his behalf. She screened him out based on a minor hematocrit issue. He refused the t-shirt but took four oatmeal raisin cookies when he left. The next donor wanted to discuss the use of leeches as a valid medical practice. He asked for a triple extra large t-shirt for his wife. Yet another donor returned his questionnaire after having corrected the questions in red ink. Then a very short man named Tyrion had come in for a chat. He refused donation screening but ate two oatmeal raisin and three chocolate chip cookies. He’d sat through her draws of a man named Bronn, who barely screened based on past history of sexual transmitted diseases, and a nervous boy named Pod. Tyrion kept saying she knew his brother, insisting that the two of them had some instant connection. Brienne thought he must be mistaken.

The last donor of the day walked in and it was The Most Gorgeous Man in Westeros. That’s how she thought of him. The first time she saw him was when he took her tour of the weaponry display. He was beautiful. His hair was golden, his skin glowed, his eyes a perfect green, shoulders broad, hips narrow, a hint of muscular thigh straining against his trousers, his teeth white and straight, his mouth. _Gods, his mouth_. He’d taken her tour a second time but she’d been distracted by two other men, R &R the museum staff called them, Ramsey and Reek. They were known for trying to open cases and touch the weapons. After seeing him the first time, he turned up everywhere. She’d seen him at the grocery store and nodded vaguely. He used the treadmill next to her at the gym. She'd listened to her music. He’d been at the shop where she bought her morning muffin. Once, she thought he’d smiled at her before she noticed the tiny brunette standing beside her. He was The Most Gorgeous Man in Westeros. It wouldn’t do any good to develop a crush on him. He’d never want a tall, pale, awkward blonde with freckles, a bump on the bridge of her nose and crooked teeth. He probably didn’t even remember her.

He introduced himself as Jaime Lannister, then closed the blinds to the conference room, stating that he didn’t want anyone watching in case he fainted or threw up. Who was she to argue? Then he’d asked her to read the screening questions to him, saying he was dyslexic.

“Have you lived outside of Westeros for more than three years in the last decade?” she asked.

“Have you? Are you from the Westerlands? Where have you been?”

She met his eyes. He’d started to grow a beard since she last saw him. Even his beard was perfect. “The question relates to vaccinations you might have been required to receive. So have you?”

“No. I have not,” he responded. “Tell me about you.”

“Do you have a tattoo?”

“Is this a way you screen all your dates? If I have a tattoo do I have to show it to you? What if it’s on my ass?”

“Have you gotten a tattoo in the last three months?” she tried again without thinking about his ass. Which was probably perfect. Like the rest of him.

“I have a great ass, but no tattoos. Do you have a tattoo?”

“Have you been on any antibiotics in the last three weeks?”

“Can I see your ass?”

She flushed. “Antibiotics?” He was just a flirt.

“What do I get for donating blood? A special present? Will you grant me three wishes?”

“You get a t-shirt and a sticker that says ‘I donated blood today.’ Antibiotics?”

“I’m not on antibiotics and I think my blood is worth more than a t-shirt and a sticker. I’m a Lannister.”

“Your blood is O positive. It’s a pretty common type. Have you had sex with another man in the past three years?” She braced herself for his response.

“Do I look gay?”

She flicked her eyes over his perfect hair, perfect suit, perfect shoes. “Have you had sex with another man in the past three years?”

“ _No._ I have never had sex with a man. Have you?”

She flushed. “Have you ever tested positive for a sexually transmitted disease?”

He grinned at her. “I usually don’t answer that question on the first date, but for you, Blue Eyes, I’ll tell you I’m perfectly clean.”

She struggled to remain professional. “You’ve met the criteria.” She pulled out a disposable thermometer. “Put this under your tongue.”

He opened his mouth and lifted his tongue. His mouth was perfect. She placed the thermometer. “Close your mouth and hold it there. Please take off your jacket so I can take your blood pressure.”

He stood up and slowly removed his jacket, making it look like a striptease. He laid his jacket over the back of one of the conference room chairs and sat back down. She took his blood pressure through his shirt but she could feel the warmth of his body anyway. “One hundred thirty-two over eighty-seven. That’s within range.” She reached for the thermometer. He tightened his lips so she had to tug it out. “Ninety-eight nine. A few tenths high, but also normal. Now I’m going to stick your finger and take a drop of blood. It will sting for a moment.” She took his hand in hers. He was so warm. His heat seemed to fill the room. His skin was smooth but there were calluses on his palm. She wanted to stroke them. She stuck his finger instead.

“Ow. That hurt,” he complained.

“I told you it would.” She wiped off the first drop of blood and then used her fingers to put pressure on his fingertip and fill a small tube with blood.

“Shouldn’t you be using gloves or something?” he asked.

“Regulations don’t require us to, but I can if you prefer,” she offered.

“No. I’d rather you didn’t. I like the way your hands feel.”

She was sure her neck was beet red. She tested his hematocrit and counted to ten. It dropped perfectly. Like everything else about him.

“Now if you could roll up both sleeves so I can check your arms.”

“Both sleeves? Don’t you just take blood from one arm?”

“I need to look at the veins in both arms, please.” She needed to check him for track marks even though he didn’t look like an addict. “Please roll up both sleeves.”

“I’ll just take off my shirt.”

“That’s not necessary,” she stammered, but he had already removed his cufflinks and placed them on the conference room table. _Of course he wore cufflinks._ He untucked shirt, loosened and removed his tie, and began undoing the buttons. “I just need to see your arms.”

“That’s all you’re going to see, Blue Eyes.” He removed his shirt and added it to the pile on the table. He was wearing a perfectly white, perfectly tight cotton t-shirt. The sleeves clung to his biceps, the front molding to his pecs. “At least for now.”

She reached for his hands, held both and turned them over. No marks. He had the sexiest arms she’d ever seen. Her palms itched with want to stroke the soft hair covering them. She dropped his hands and readied her needle, bags and swabs. “Do you have an arm preference?”

“Do _you_ have an arm preference?” he responded. “I want to make this good for you.”

She choked out, “Left. Are you allergic to adhesive or alcohol?” She gripped the alcohol packet.

“I drink, so I’m pretty sure I’m not allergic to alcohol. We could go for a drink once you’re done here. Or dinner?”

“You should have cookies and orange juice before you leave and not have alcohol for at least twelve hours. You’ll be light-headed.” She tied the rubber strap around his bicep. It was a sexy bicep. She thumped his vein with her index finger. It stood out nicely. Of course it did. She opened the alcohol swab and rubbed the vein for sixty seconds. She marked the vein and released the strap. “Do not touch or move your arm.”

“Yes, m’am.” He winked at her. She flushed again. “We could order in. For dinner. At my place. Or your place. Wherever.”

She labelled the donation bags and placed one on the scale. She readied the needle. “Are you squeamish? Do you need to look away?” She tightened the rubber strap again.

“I think I can take whatever you dish out.” She met his eyes at that. They were perfect green and filled with mirth. She dropped her gaze to his mouth. He grinned. She inhaled and slid the needle into his arm. “Ow. You didn’t tell me it was going to hurt,” he accused.

“Did you really think sticking a needle into your arm was going to feel good?” She handed him a small rectangular padded bar. “Don’t squeeze this. That will tighten your muscles and can cause the needle to shift. Rotate it in your hand.”

“I like squeezing.”

“I’m telling you to rotate.”

“If I rotate, will you sit here and talk to me?”

“Are you feeling faint?” she asked.

“Would it matter?”

She sighed. “I can’t leave you if you’re feeling faint.”

“Then yes, yes, I’m going to faint, Brienne.”

Her head shot up at the sound of her name. Then she remembered the name tag pinned to her scrubs. She sat down on the stool beside him. She asked the usual questions. “Is this your first donation?”

“What do I get if I say yes?”

She almost smiled. “A t-shirt and a sticker.”

He laughed. “What do I have to do to get you to go out with me, Blue Eyes?”

“You don’t want to go out with me.” She’d had this happen before. Men thought it was funny to ask out the big blonde with the needles. They were usually weird men with needle or nurse fetishes, not business men in suits that cost more than three months of her rent. Certainly not The Most Gorgeous Man in Westeros.

“I think I do.”

“I think you’re light-headed.” She checked the weight of the bag. It was three minutes in and he was already half way full. If he filled the bag in less than five minutes, she’d have to spend the next thirty minutes sitting with him.

“I arranged for you to be the one to do the executive donations. I wasn’t light-headed then.”

She started at that. “Why?”

“So I could ask you out.”

She furrowed her brow. “Why would you want that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he challenged.

She flushed again and damned her pale skin. “Because you’re you,” she passed a hand over him, “and I’m me,” then pointed at herself.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.”

She looked right at his green eyes, searching for a hint of mockery and found none. The scale clicked. She checked the time, six minutes, eighteen seconds. She began the procedure of tying off the tubes. She removed the needle from his arm and placed a cotton ball on his vein. “Hold pressure on this and raise your arm in the air.” She took comfort in the routine of labeling the bags and placing them in the holding container.

“Do you like pasta?”

“You can stop now,” she responded.

“Stop what?”

“Teasing me. It’s over. You’ve made your donation.” She felt the heat creeping into her cheeks.

He leaned into her to whisper. “Oh, Brienne, I do like the way you blush, but when I decide to tease you, and I _will_ be teasing you, you’ll know.”

She shivered but avoided meeting his eyes. She wrapped his arm with the X wrap which would allow him more flexibility. “If you’re feeling all right, you can get your cookies and juice.” She motioned to the platter at the end of the conference room table.

“And if I’m not feeling all right?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed towards her. “Will you go out with me then?”

“I recommend the homemade chocolate chip cookies,” she advised, ignoring his question.

He stood up and wobbled. She caught him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. He breathed into her ear. “Have dinner with me tonight.” He molded his body to hers. “Please, Brienne.”

Her name sounded sexy when he said it. She inhaled. He smelled like everything she ever wanted. She started to pull away but he shifted his hips and she could feel his hard cock pressing into her thigh. His lips grazed her neck. Her instinct told her to put her hands on his shoulders, run her fingers through his hair. Instead, she froze. He began rocking them back and forth. He dropped his head and he slid his mouth over her collarbone. He ran his hand up her back and hit a spot just below her right shoulder blade, about two inches from her spine. Her knees gave out.

His mouth was on hers, their tongues intertwined, her hands on his back, his shoulders, his chest. Without breaking the kiss, he bent his knees, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the table, knocking his shirt, tie and cufflinks on the floor. She vaguely thought that he shouldn’t lift over twelve pounds for the next twenty-four hours. Her legs parted. He leaned into her until she was laying down, then climbed onto the table himself, between her thighs and above her. He drew back to look at her, his breathing ragged. “I’m going to have to remember that spot, Blue Eyes.”

Then he was on her again. Her hands were in his hair and his mouth was on her neck. She draped one leg around his hip. She felt his hot, hard cock pressing into her cunt. She moaned. He braced one arm by the side of her head and pressed himself into her, but only succeeded in sliding her up the polished surface of the table. Her top didn’t slide as readily as the rest of her and she coughed as it choked her. With one hand, he ripped the material at her throat, leaving her bare to his gaze and his touch. In an instant, his mouth was on one breast, his palm on the other. She writhed under his touch, trying to find some friction, some way to get closer. She kicked over two conference room chairs in the attempt while her hands found their way under his shirt. “Brienne,” he called out her name. She pulled his t-shirt off.

He reached between them to unbuckle his belt. The soft clang of the metal raised goose bumps on her arms. He thrust his hand down the front of her pants and placed his palm on her cunt. She arched up into his touch at the same moment he pressed his body into her. They slid farther up the table, knocking the platter of cookies and the boxes of juice to the floor.

The phone at the end of the table began ringing. He slid one finger inside her. He breathed into her cheek, “You are so hot, so tight, I want to wrap you around me like a blanket.” She moaned and bit his shoulder.

The phone intercom beeped three times and they heard a male voice calling, “ _Jaime? Jaime?_ ”

He settled on top of her and raised his head. He used his free hand to hit the speaker button on the phone. “What, Tyrion?” He continued to work her with his other hand. She tried to twist away. He licked her nipple but stilled his hand.

_“Didn’t you organize this blood drive so you could ask her out on a date and not maul her in the conference room?”_

She pulled back to stare at him. He rested his head in one hand and looked down at her, licking his lips. He placed just the tip of one finger inside her. She arched up into his hand and bit her lip. “What makes you think I’m mauling her?” He bent his head to her breast again, drawing lazy circles around it with his tongue. She bit her hand to keep silent.

_“If you’re not molesting her, then you’re throwing furniture around the room. That still doesn’t explain the moaning. Stannis called security. Peck is standing in front of the door refusing to allow them entrance. He claims you threatened to fire the entire administrative staff if he let anyone interrupt.”_

“ _You’re_ interrupting and maybe she’s the one mauling me.” He flicked his finger over her clit and her body jerked into his.

 _“Well, you’ve been stalking the poor girl for weeks now, following her to the grocery store, to the coffee shop, to the gym. And you organized a blood donation drive just to get five minutes alone with her. When I talked to her she had no idea who you were. My money is on_ you _mauling_ her _. In fact, I have fifty dragons that says you’re laying on top of her on the conference room table right now. What happened to your shirt, anyway?_ ”

“Are you in the security office? Turn off the cameras, Tyrion.” He moved to lay fully on top of her, protecting her from any prying eyes. He pulled his hand out of her pants. She was torn between dying of embarrassment and begging him to fuck her. He licked his fingers.

_“Fine. I didn’t see anything. Not really. The camera is at the wrong angle. It’s a good thing you have a supply of t-shirts in there. I’ll call off security and send the staff home. They are waiting outside the conference room to give you a standing ovation. They are tired of hearing you rabbit on about blue-eyed blonde museum tour guides.”_

“Part-time curator,” she managed to croak out.

Tyrion laughed.

Jaime kissed her again as the line went dead. She braced her hands against his chest to push him away. He pressed his cock more firmly into her. She caught her breath.

“We can’t do this,” she said, turning her head away from him.

He ran his tongue up her neck. “No, we can’t. This table is far too uncomfortable and I can’t get any traction. We’d end up falling off the end.” He put both arms around her to hold her close. “We can try the floor though.” He sucked the spot behind her ear and she shivered.

“There are security cameras,” she gasped, trying to focus.

He stilled. “I don’t want anyone else seeing you naked, ever. You’re mine.”

She tried to clear her head. She was half naked on a table in a bank conference room with The Most Gorgeous Man in Westeros on top of her. “You set up the blood drive to meet me?” she asked.

“To ask you out on a date, actually. You kept ignoring me.” He pressed into her again, still hard.

She shook her head in disbelief. “You want to date me?”

He ran a finger along her cheek and jawline. “I want a lot more than that, Brienne Tarth. I knew it the moment I saw you standing next to a medieval sword looking like a warrior maiden come to life. I want to date you, I want to marry you, I want to fuck you every night. Mornings too. Afternoons. After work. During work. Evenings.” She caught her breath as he leaned in to kiss her again, tender this time. “But not on this table. Unless we can cover it with a mat or something.” He grinned down at her. “Years from now, I’m going to tell our children how I had to give up a pint of blood just to get their mother to talk to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> If S4E10 can ruin table sex, so can I.


End file.
